The training room was one of the largest spaces in the station, designed less for comfort and more for scrutiny. A massive screen dominated the wall opposite the entrance, flanked by rows of tiered seating that faced it like a tribunal. Whatever happened here was meant to be watched.

  In the center of the room stood the real focus—two parallel rows of machines, seven in each line, evenly spaced with a wide gap between them.

  Reality simulators.

  Each unit was a tall, transparent cylinder. Inside hung a reinforced suit and helmet, suspended by thick cables running into the ceiling. The materials were unfamiliar—sleeker, heavier-looking and far more advanced than what I had seen at the academy. These were military-grade and purpose-built.

  My ribs twinged faintly as I took them in.

  If this was a virtual exercise, then I might actually have a chance. Pain might be dampened. Impact regulated. I could work around the injury instead of through it.

  That was encouraging.

  Our squad had arrived fourth. The final team filtered in a few minutes later, filling the room with low murmurs and nervous energy. The clock ticked closer to the thirty-minute mark, but Officer Bailey was still absent.

  Suddenly, as if summoned by the thought, the doors slid open.

  She strode in with practiced authority and stopped at the front of the room.

  "Attention!"

  Every squad snapped to their feet in unison.

  "Before I explain the evaluation," she said, "I'll tell you the concept behind it. At ease."

  Chairs scraped softly as we sat.

  "In the past few years," Bailey continued, pacing slowly, "you have been trained to be disciplined, precise, and efficient. You were taught to neutralize threats with minimal collateral damage. You were raised to be the guardians of order in our society and are tasked with purging those who seek to destroy the peace."

  "In your academies you were molded into predators. You learned how criminals think—how terrorists plan, how cultists justify themselves. You learned to hunt."

  She stopped walking.

  "That alone is no longer sufficient."

  A hush fell over the room.

  "To be a marshal is to live your life under the constant threat of danger. While we may exist as objects of fear to the anarchists, we also become the targets of their hatred and retaliation is not uncommon. We need to know how you perform when your roles are reversed. When the hunter becomes the hunted."

  The tension was immediate and palpable. It seemed everyone understood where she was going with this.

  "In this exercise, you will be placed in a hostile environment without external support. All you will have are yourselves and some limited equipment. You will be isolated."

  She let that sink in.

  "You will become prey."

  This was amazing news. From what I could gather, it seemed direct confrontation wasn't necessary, which greatly increased our odds of performing well. I didn't know where we ranked among any of these other squads, we had all come from different academies, but I had complete confidence in us when it came to random and unusual situations that required improvisation such as this.

  We had once fended off a 6 squad ambush during an academy drill with only a rifle, two CMC blades and some used gum. It was a long story.

  "The exercise will be conducted in virtual reality," Bailey said, gesturing toward the simulators. "Environments will be randomly selected—urban sectors, isolated compounds, singular structures. Your objective is simple. Survive for as long as you can. However you choose to do so is irrelevant."

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  As she spoke, seven officers entered the room and took positions behind her.

  They wore sparring kits, but nothing about them felt recreational. Their relaxed postures radiated levels of discipline and confidence that hinted at a wealth of experience. These were the real marshals.

  I felt a surge of excitement. This could be fun.

  "Behind me are the officers that you will be going up against. They are all high ranked class 1 marshals and are tasked with hunting you down and eliminating you. Avoidance is recommended, but points will be awarded for eliminating any one of them—if you're capable, that is."

  Some of the marshals exchanged knowing grins with each other. They clearly weren't worried about any of us putting up much of a fight.

  We would see about that.

  "Now, as you are all clear on what the exercise entails, we will decide the order of participation."

  She turned and looked directly at me. "This would normally be done with a random shuffle but as you all know Captain Aldrich made quite the impression on me earlier today."

  I felt a sinking sensation in my stomach.

  "As a result," she continued pleasantly, "his squad will be going first."

  A ripple of laughter moved through the room.

  Lydia and Cuiran groaned in unison. Jen gave me a light smack upside the head. I didn't complain.

  "Once they complete the exercise the rest of you will be selected at random. Be ready. Captain Aldrich—your squad is up. We are starting immediately."

  I stood up first and faced the team.

  I made them a gesture— my right hand closed into a fist then pressed into my open left palm. Then I opened it, fingers spreading outward while simultaneously closing my left palm into a fist.

  Disperse and hide.

  They all nodded in understanding. I had developed many such signs over the years. It made things convenient.

  We moved towards the simulators, each of us stopping in front of a unit. The higher rank marshals did the same. Officer Bailey then turned to face us.

  "Place your palms on the simulators to open them. Once inside, put on the suits and helmets."

  A section of the cylinder slid away soundlessly as I pressed my palms up against it. The floor inside shifted under my boots—soft, responsive—as I stepped in. The suit sealed around me with a faint hiss, weight settling evenly across my body. I pulled on the helmet and switched on the display.

  Light flooded my vision.

  I stood in a vast white space, stretching endlessly in every direction. No walls. No ceiling. Just empty. Around me, my squadmates and the other marshals tested their movement—walking, jumping, sprinting.

  Emulating them, I ran forward experimentally. The ground responded instantly, every stride natural, effortless. It was amazing how real everything felt.

  "You are all in the waiting area," officer Bailey's voice echoed through the void. "These are some of the most advanced simulators on the market. All environments, terrain and interactions can be simulated by the suit and movement pad, utilizing your sense of touch. The helmet provides the visuals, sounds and even produces chemicals that replicate scents and odours, allowing you to utilize your sense of smell."

  I covered my mouth to hide my grin. That little piece of information was a complete game changer.

  "The exercise begins now. Both teams will be deployed randomly, grouped with their respective squads. Good luck."

  The world snapped into place.

  I stood on a cracked roadway. My body wobbled as I tried to regain my orientation, the immediate location change not sitting well with me and the rest of the squad it seemed. They were all hunched over beside me, trying to shake off the vertigo. I recovered quickly and patted myself down, making a short note of the items I had on my person.

  Combat uniform. Utility belt. Backpack.

  Looking around, I noticed we were in a city. The air was sterile, faintly sharp in my lungs. Buildings loomed on either side—dark windows, silent streets. No civilians. The whole area was most likely empty. No time to waste then.

  I clapped twice and without so much as a word to each other we all split off and ran in different directions.

  Keeping low and moving fast, I cut through side streets and empty parks. All of them devoid of human presence or life. This was good. The less variables I had to consider, the faster I could work. After going past a few more blocks, I finally found what I was looking for—the boundary of the space.

  A wide glowing red line slicing through the street. The city continued beyond it.

  I stepped closer, attempting to move beyond. I made it about halfway past the line before I was flung backwards.

  I groaned as I stood back up. There was a dull pain in my back. The suit was doing a really good job.

  With that, it was clear. Confrontation was unavoidable.

  After some quick deliberation, I decided to set up in one of the buildings nearby. I entered quickly and took the stairs two at a time, stopping at the highest floor. I tried the door—it was open—and stepped inside the apartment. It was like a typical modern apartment, complete with facilities, appliances and even furniture. I shut the door, sat down on a couch and emptied the belt and bag, dumping all my gear on the table.

  Two KL hand-pieces. Model 9.

  One HEP grenade.

  An Aegis helmet.

  Two CPS axes.

  Decent loadout. Not ideal—but workable.

  I quickly put on the helmet and switched to infrared and scanned the surroundings thoroughly.

  Clear.

  I reattached my belt, strapped the axes to my sides, and was halfway to the window when the announcement cut through the air.

  "Marshal Butler has been eliminated."

  My stomach dropped.

  Lydia.

  Already? Shit.

  "One down. Six more to go."

  HEP: High Energy Pulse

  CPS: Contained Plasma Shear

  CMC: Crystalline Metallic Composite

  Marshals are effectively a Celestial state's military, police, crisis response and intelligence agencies all rolled into one organisation.

  It consist of eight divisions: Civic order, Judicial & Enforcement, Crisis response, Border & Customs, Interstate Security, Intelligence & Investigations, Internal Affairs and last but not least Training & Readiness. All rookies/initiates start off in Civic order then are reassigned to other divisions or remain in Civic order but are promoted to a higher rank.